


Monster

by victorianvirgil



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: I’d let y’all know tho, M/M, Prinxiety - Freeform, Sanders Sides - Freeform, This Is Not A Harry Potter AU, and I don’t want to spoil anything in the tags, and deceit will probably be added once he gets an official name (if ever), but who knows, if it continues tho, it’ll get more romantic as it goes along, now anyway, or if I just say fuck it and just give him one, this is super platonic at the moment, uhhhhhhhhh yeah that’s it I think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 18:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16289423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorianvirgil/pseuds/victorianvirgil
Summary: Upon being dared to enter The Forbidden Forest while drugged up during a frat party, Roman of course does it. There, he spots a beautiful boy in the woods and is determined to find him again. He ventures again come the full moon as it is first opportunity, not his first mistake but one of many. Because The Forbidden Forest earned its name with all those who mysteriously disappeared, for the people lost by either murderers and cannibals or witches, goblins, werewolves, and the Devil himself. And what Roman finds there on that night is far from human.





	Monster

Running blindly into the woods alone during the Devil’s Hour was hardly the most stupid thing Roman had ever done, but it was certainly ranked among the top twenty-five.

He knew of what lurked there, of the demons his closest friends had sworn they had seen. But he entered anyway, the flashlight of his phone his torch in hand.

He had been partying with his frat house brothers, rejoicing the end of their finals with woman, beer, and lines of coke that may or may not have been there. And in their irrational states of mind, decided that daring the already idiotic swashbuckler to spend the night in the woods was a good idea. And said idiotic swashbuckler, in his own irrational, drugged up mind state, agreed.

 _The Forbidden Forest_ , he chuckled, reminiscing his childhood when he had read Harry Potter. Giant spiders, unicorns, centaurs, and the most evil man in the world had wandered there, and it was of no coincidence that their small New England college in the Middle of Nowhere, Connecticut earned the same name.

Disappearances occurred every other day, the police claiming cannibals and murderers while the locals claimed witches, goblins, werewolves, and the Devil himself. And Roman, while not born and raised in Middle of Nowhere, found himself believing the locals the deeper he entered, the tether grounding him towards good and light slipping with every step.

It had been not even five minutes before the star quarterback was hopelessly and helplessly lost.

His fingertips graced the bark of a tree reigning overhead, the canopy of leaves shielding what little light the waxing moon had to offer But no fear swelled in his honey eyes, not as he grabbed a low hanging branch and swung himself up.

He ascended the trees without the ease he normally would have, lacking his exceptional hand-eye coordination and reflexes his sport had provided him and alcohol had stripped him.

So the rather short climb took his near ten minutes, bouncy on the flimsy branch beneath him as he eyed the world from his perch. In his condition, he believed he was either Lewis or Clark but if one asked, he would claim they were the same person: Lewison Clark.

It took a moment for him to comprehend the landscape, to spot the campus to his right that glittered like Mount Olympus.

A grin was etched across his lips, knowing that come morning, he would be able to find his way back. He was better than those lost in the woods to Hell’s monsters or their own. Much, much better than them.

He made it halfway down the tree before slipping, landing on his knees. But adrenaline was coursing through his veins and he easily stood up, driving the butcher’s knife he had stolen from the frat kitchen into the tree he had scaled in order to know what direction he had come in.

Then, thinking of his favorite Grimm Fairy Tale, he grabbed a handful of stones and left them as a trail so he could walked deeper into the woods. After all, he did have hours until sunrise and had nothing to do but explore.

There was a clearing a few hundred yards from his impaled tree, a sanctuary with a smoothed down rock in the middle as if Mother Nature had wanted an alter to preach from.

And upon that alter sat a creature more beautiful than any Roman had ever seen before.

A boy, fairer than the moon herself, sat upon the altar like a king upon his throne. Dark hair covered half of his face like a mother’s hand cradling her child’s cheek and shielding it from the world, but Roman luckily stood to his right and was allowed to gaze upon his features. On his soft skin and strong jaw, on his ebony eyes darker than pitch.

He was cloaked in tattered clothes, a black tank meant for temperatures much warmer than those offered by October and dark washed jeans that didn’t appear to be ripped for the purposes of style.

He had never seen this man before, would have remembered seeing such a beauty. Would have dreamt of it.

So he knew this man did not attend his college and had no place in these woods unless he hailed from its darkness. He could be a witch, goblin, werewolf, or the Devil himself. But Roman seriously doubted that, even with the coke in his system; he would trust his gorgeous man with his life. Would hand it to him on a silver platter if asked.

Bewitched by his beauty, Roman found himself beckoned closer, a twig snapping in his wake. Despite the rustling all around them, the sound was caught by the trained ears of the boy in the clearing and like a fair doe, he leaped from his stone throne and sprinted into the woods, carried by the wind.

Still in a trace, Roman found himself stumbling after him, only stopping when his insides begged to be spilled. He then braced himself against a tree, pressing his back against it when his world twirled as if he were caught in the midst of a mighty hurricane.

The boy, formerly nowhere in sight, appeared before him like an apparition.

A lazy smile spread across Roman’s lips, the world still blurry as the boy drew near; it wasn’t until Roman saw the large stick in his hand did his smile fade, body crumbling beneath his weight as he lay unconscious. Looking like the dead.

-

Roman awoke to the sound of his name flooding the forest, worried voices echoing through his throbbing skull. He was pressed against the trunk of a tree, vomit dribbling out of his mouth and plastered against the corners of his lips.

He could only see the world through lidded eyes, raising a shaking hand to his forehead where dried blood coated his skin. Some remained on his eyelids, Roman reasoning it as to why his eyelids were unyielding cement blocks that forbade him from opening them further.

The voices, despite how familiar and promising they were, seemed too far away. Much too far away to be of any help or make it in time. He would await death to stroll out from behind a tree and he would embrace him as he would a lover. And he’d go quietly, willingly.

-

But death did not round the tree, no. Roman’s friend, Patton, noted the body pressed against a tree’s trunk and his heart plummeted.

“Oh god, what has he done?” he whispered, voice shaking as his pace grew quicker, collapsing by his friend’s side. Roman was out cold, pulse beating ever so faintly in his neck. His skin was cold, dried blood coating his face in a red mask and had Patton been any less experienced with injuries, he would have thrown up his breakfast at the sight of his best friend so close to his last breath.

Patton screamed for help, holding Roman in his arms until the rest of the search party arrived. Logan stepped forward, the only one able to pull Roman from Patton’s arms and holding him in his own as if Roman were a drunk bride on her wedding night.

The others kept a watchful eye, oblivious to Patton discreetly covering the bloodied stick that had been tucked beneath Roman’s body in leaves before he joined them in returning the unconscious man back to campus. The fear across his features, while genuine, was hardly for the man in his boyfriend’s arms. It was of what would have happened if anyone found that stick.

-

Roman, to no one’s surprise, was perfectly fine. The alcohol and drugs left his system when he detoxed, swearing himself off drugs for the rest of his life the day he woke up. He even managed to avoid alcohol for some time with encouragement from Patton, who had dutifully had remained by his side throughout the few days it took to recover and a few more just to be safe. But Roman didn’t risk the woods again, not until the full moon ruled the land from the midnight sky and the incident had been forgotten by all but Roman himself.

And all it took was a simple fabrication to slip off into the night unnoticed, claiming to go study in the library when he instead was welcomed by the forest’s warmth once more.

The forest was brightened that night, the moon’s light vanquishing the dark with her devious smile, and Roman found it much more navigable. And he was also two weeks sober which would increase the navigational skill of any man tenfold.

He walked maybe a couple hundred yards before the scene grew more familiar. His knife had been left in the tree, Patton thinking nothing of it when Roman asked for it to stay.

He pulled it out, the sword in the stone, and eyed the sap sticking to the fine metal. He pursed his lips, disgusted with himself for having gotten lost so quickly. He could practically see the campus from his spot. But, he supposed, that was what drugs could do to even the most skilled of men.

His gaze averted to the pebbles beneath his feet, soon following their winding trail to the boy’s clearing.

He had, like he had known he would, dreamed of it. The land of the boy on his stone throne, the land of the most beautiful boy he had ever seen. He knew the boy had not been a figment of his imagination, that he had not merely passed out that night like Logan so potently claimed. The boy had been scared and knocked him out.

And Roman wanted to know why.

He slipped out of the thicket and into the clearing, a daisy brushing against his feet as he creeped through the grass that was perhaps grazed by the unicorns and centaurs nearby.

He released a quiet breath, a gentle phrase hanging above him in the cloud seen due to the cool temperature. “I’m here. Come out now.”

He waited, standing besides the boy’s rock with a hand pressed against the smooth surface. He had returned for the boy, ventured into the woods once more to claim him. To rule the clearing together.

Fantasy or not, he could not ignore the rustling within the thicket. Creatures scurried out and Roman believed for a moment that they came to bow down. _To him._

But an owl flew overhead, set on flying due-west accompanied by squirrels jumping from branch to branch the same way. Birds chirped, a storm of them streaming head-height and Roman only just ducked to save the uppermost part of his body. Ground animals from chipmunks, to foxes, to insects scurried by his feet, all heading due-west. _Heading towards where_ , he wondered. _Or more likely, away from what_.

But it wasn’t until the forest was empty and the deafening silence screamed his name did true fear really settle. Take over.

Roman fell onto the rock, clutching his chest as if to contain his rapidly beating heart when he stared east to where he would meet his doom.

Despite his soberness, fear was a drug controlling his mind. Every shadow was a demon sent by Lucifer himself to drag Roman into the pits of hell and the real monster sure to emerge at any moment would be nothing natural.

And when it emerged, calling it supernatural would be an understatement.

A midnight soldier stood before him, on the rim of the clearing and assessing the prey inside. Its pitch fur glistened beneath the moon’s light, still darker claws glittering. Its snout was longer than that of an average wolf, which would have been Roman’s first guess as to what this creature was had it not stood on its hind legs. Its snarl revealed a full set of razor sharp canines that could cling to limbs and rip them apart easily.

Roman was paralyzed, unable to move as the creature took a pained step inside the clearing until it was just the two of them. Roman barely had time to stand on his own feet before he was tackled to the ground, pinned beneath the ravenous beast’s weight.

Roman screamed, staring up into the monster’s human eyes, blacker than its coat. A tortured soul, forged by the devil himself in the bottom-most level of hell. Roman slashed at it with his knife, hoping that the fear of God would strike in one of his slashes.

He only once hit his target, blinding the beast in its left eye. It howled, recoiling enough for Roman to jump to his feet and begin running towards campus. He didn’t think twice about the direction, wouldn’t have had time to do so anyway, but he needed to get help. He was not so stupid as to bolt deeper into the forest where the beast’s mate and remainder of its pack could be waiting.

No, he needed help.

Some of his frat brothers had guns, they would surely help him if the beast dared enter campus. It would be dead in moments, Roman just needed to get there.

Four hundred yards, and Roman could hear the beast drawing nearer.

He was stupid, god was he fucking stupid. When he had told his tale about the boy in the clearing, Logan had nearly laughed. He told him that his angel wasn’t real, that cocaine did things to the mind. That Roman was desperate to find love and in his state, he had conjured up the perfect man. His words had stung, especially with many of his closest friends there to hear, but they must have been true for where was this boy now? There was no light in the woods aside from the moon’s, no angel waiting to save him in sight.

There was only what, Roman knew to be, a werewolf on his tail. Ready to kill him.

Three hundred yards, and he could hear its claws scraping against tree bark. The beast was toying with him.

The probability of making it seemed to be growing slimmer and slimmer with every step because despite the ground he was making, the beast was gaining on him. He would die without ever seeing Patton’s smile or Logan push his glasses up the bridge of his nose or without playing a game of football with his brother. Without falling in love. Logan was right, of course he was, and because he doubted him, Roman was going to die.

Two hundred yards, and the beast pounced.

It tackled Roman to the ground, the brunette’s head colliding with the ground first and knocking him out a second time during the moon’s cycle. The beast waited for him to thrash, wanting to take its time torturing and tearing him to shreds, but Roman didn’t move, not even as it dug its nails into his shoulder and leaned down to bite his neck.

-

He saw the beast looming over a helpless creature, barely able to comprehend much in his own state. But he knew that the other had forgotten, that he had Turned without potion. He was in pain, absolutely agony, and the creature beneath him was collateral damage.

Patton moved closer and his body would have been unrecognizable to his best friend at the mercy of the werewolf.

Patton lunged forward, throwing himself and the beast off of Roman and pinning him to the ground. The other screamed beneath him, tears in one eye - the other was, oh god what had happened to his eye? - as he stared up at Patton helplessly. He was hurting, far more than he ever had before, and he couldn’t stop himself.

Patton extended one arm to the side, taking a rock and cracking it against the other’s skull. He stopped, his remaining eye fluttering shut as his body stopped moving. Started to submit.

Patton glanced at his friend, noting the blood decorating his face in burgundy. He rose to his hind legs, pulling his friend behind the protection of a bush until he would awake the next morning in his human form. Despite his injury, he knew that Virgil would be okay.

His concern was Roman, the boy unconscious and scathed in his fight with a spawn of the devil. He had a knife in his hand, coated in Virgil’s blood, and Patton was able to bury it before he scooped Roman into his arms to carry him deep into the woods.

To the place he called home.

-

Roman awoke not with a jolt but slowly at first, the embrace of the blankets begging him to continue his recovery while asleep.

Blankets, there most certainly hadn’t been blankets in the forest.

Only then did Roman fully awaken, a groan erupting from somewhere deep inside of his soul as his golden eyes scanned his surroundings. His head was throbbing, shoulder worse still, but he was determined to assess his situation and figure out his location.

Luckily, his eyes were already used to the dark.

There was a bookshelf nestled in the corner, a wooden rocking chair that looked anything but comfortable by its side. To the other side of the double bed he lay in was a chest with only the devil knows what inside.

Roman rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling before making a vain attempt to raise himself onto his elbows. His body didn’t respond to him.

So he lay there, lips parted to yell out when the door creaked open and light streamed in. He squinted, now wondering if it would be against his better judgement to say anything and alert them - captors or saviors? - that he was awake.

But they seemed to be able to tell as the man standing there threw the door open, hurrying inside and going to Roman’s right.

Patton, an angel,

“Oh thank heavens,” he mumbled as Roman reached for his hand. The smaller clasped it, ignoring the way it shook and squeezing to steady him, anchor him back to the real world. “How are you feeling?”

“Dandy,” Roman croaked, voice surprisingly sore. Patton’s lips pursed, studying Roman intently. Everywhere but his right shoulder, it seemed.

He only nodded, seeing through his friends lie but saying nothing of it. Or maybe he was going to but Roman’s attention was pulled elsewhere. To the figure leaning against the doorframe, glass of water in hand.

It was the boy from the clearing, king of stone.

Roman choked on his breath, coughing and blood splattering on the already soiled sheets. Already soiled with his blood.

“How is he?” His voice bells ringing in the wind, a child’s first laugh. Gentle yet no one could deny its beauty.

“Stable. In pain but alive.”

The boy took a step forward, actions careful and calculated. Roman thought the hesitance must have been because of him, because he was scared that Roman’s condition would be fatal.

But when Roman managed to tear his eyes away and look at his friend by his side, he knew it was most likely because of the total rage in Patton’s eyes.

It was an unfamiliar sight, but maybe the most terrifying thing he had ever seen.

“Pat?” Roman asked, letting go of his friend’s hand and moving it so he could lift himself up.

“No, don’t-”

The ear-splitting scream cut him off. Red flashed in Roman’s eyes, blinding him as he collapsed back onto the bed. Onto his shoulder that felt as though it had been whipped by the devil himself.

He screamed and screamed, body contorting as he thrashed and thrashed.

“He’s still bleeding?” the boy asked, only to be ignored.

“Roman,” Patton said, voice calm despite the panic in his eyes. The boy could see it from the doorway, stepping further into the room and placing the cup of water down onto the bedside table.

“Do something, Virgil!”

And the boy, Virgil, nodded. He crawled onto the bed and pinned Roman down. “We’re going to have to wait it out.”

Roman was still howling, trying to buck Virgil off but the other straddled his waist and kept him firmly in place.

He bucked and screamed and moaned until his voice was sore, the agony still present but his voice was wrecked. And all there was to do was cry silent, silent tears.

“God, I’m so sorry,” Virgil mumbled, finally releasing Roman’s wrists and rolling off of him. He curled up inside of himself, pain wielding its torch deep inside of him.

Roman’s body shook as the sobs continued, Patton grabbing his hand again and crying quietly with him. Because his friend was in pain and it wouldn’t be the last time.

Virgil tucked his hair behind his ear, Roman glancing his way to see that the left side of his face was scarred and-

An eye patch covering up whatever the hell Roman had done last night.

Roman’s tears stopped and he barely had time to roll over onto his side before he was throwing up. There was blood staining the sheets already, lots of it.

Roman was still bleeding out of his shoulder where Virgil had slashed him the night before.

“I’m-” Roman began, breathing deeply in an attempt to regain control. To settle himself. “Sorry.”

Virgil just nodded, the eye patch firmly covering his injury. When he had woken a few hours before in his human body, the agony had been unbearable. Virgil’s condition remained the same, but he was more worried about Roman. What he had done to him.

“It’s fine just . . .” he looked to Patton, begging the other to explain. Virgil had vowed to never and yet he-

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Patton’s eyes had long since dried, having composed himself at one point. His skin was still blotchy and his eyes were red, but he could speak without breaking down.

“What did you see last night, Ro?”

Shift the conversation to him, like a parent reflecting the question of “ _is Santa real?”_ to “ _do you think he’s real?”_

Because he wouldn’t be able to handle too much information all at once. Baby steps.

As long as he knew everything eventually.

“I was attacked by a werewolf,” he mumbled, unable to believe that the genuine sentence had left his lips. It sounded something out of a play, not his real life. “And and . . . and it was you."

Virgil bit the inside of his cheek, nodding. There was no convincing him that what he saw wasn’t real, not when he had been sober and Virgil’s eye-

“The correct term is lycan.”

“Whatever,” he said, gaze remaining on Virgil. “But why didn’t you kill me? Why aren’t you trying to kill me now?” he asked, too tired to fear for his life. But if Virgil had wanted to kill him, he had plenty of opportunities to. He would have done so forty times.

“It’s as if you are another entity entirely. Your animalistic behaviors take over and whether it is a stranger or a loved one . . . you smell blood and flesh and you can’t help yourself,” Patton explained, figuring that the last thing Virgil wanted to do was to go into detail about the attack. “And you’re alive because I saved you.”

Roman then turned to Patron, eyes wide as he looked him over for sign of injury. Virgil’s lycan form had been massive, and there was no way that Patton would have been able to stop him.

Patton squeezed Roman’s hand, averting his gaze to their joined hands as he said softly, “I'm a lycan too, Ro. Was Turned when I was eight.”

Somehow, that itself was more for him to bear than the fact that the lycan that attacked him sat inches away on the same bed. Roman slowly released his hand, ignoring the pang in his chest as something in Patton’s eyes broke.

His best friend, a werewolf. It sounded like a goddamn sitcom to him.

“Does Logan know?” he asked through gritted teeth, feeling helpless lying on his back. He needed to get up, leave the cursed town. The goddamn state while he was at it, for Connecticut was hardly the best place to live. Maybe he could find a life in Boston, Montpelier, or Augusta. Anywhere else, really.

Patton looked reluctant to answer but he nodded. “His mother is a witch and she’s been making potions for Virgil and me for years.”

The other nodded, confirming it.

“To make our Turning more tolerable, give us even minimal human instincts. So we don’t kill or Turn other people, resist our urges.”

Roman saw Virgil bow his head out of the corner of his eyes, a ring of fire surrounding his hazel eyes. He knew where this was going and he went to lunge for Virgil because god, oh god no.

He screamed at the pain, collapsing back onto the bed and cradling his shoulder. When he looked to Patton, he knew he was right.

“And . . . you’re Turned after being scratched, huh?”

Patron shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. “No it’s . . . kind of. Similar to vampires. There has to be a blood exchange of sorts. Virgil’s blood was in his nails from when you slashed his eye and then he scratched you so his blood entered your system.

“Logan does a much better job explaining but . . . our blood differs to those of humans. So our blood is positive for Lycanthropy while they’re negative. When the lycan blood enters the human system, it is at first rejected and causes blinding pain. The body is fighting against itself but the lycan blood always trumps, even if only a drop enters the system. Of course, the body could always bleed out before the Turning is complete.”

Roman fumed, shock having settled onto his features and preventing him from showing his true emotions. The rage.

“So starting the moon’s next cycle, you will Turn. And Logan cannot give you anything to numb the pain, not without killing you in the process and messing with the natural process of Turning. So we will be here for you. Virgil and I. There is a place to go, so you won’t injure anyone.”

Roman was staring at the ceiling, taking it all in. His life was over, completely and utterly over. “So why did you attack me?”

Patton looked to Virgil, waiting for the other to answer. Because it was unacceptable, it really was. “I was late on my way over and  . . . I Turned in the woods. It was . . . more painful than I remember and being like that. but God, I _Turned_ you.”

Virgil couldn’t look up, shaking his head and staring at his hands in his lap.

“There’s nothing to be done about it now,” Roman sighed, placing a hand on Virgil’s knee for a second and pulling back when the other flinched.

“Nothing except keep you safe. Because you can keep living, Ro. I go to school, I have a boyfriend and a best friend, and I’m happy,” he said, gently running his fingers through his curls. Roman looked to him and Patton offered a sad smile, looking anything but happy.

“It’s . . . difficult to say the least but it is something you learn to live with. It is something you _can_ live with. And you will, you are going to live with it. So spend the next few weeks accepting it and . . . and then it happens and you won’t be able to remember your life before.”

Roman nodded, continuing to stare at the shaking boy sitting to his left. When Virgil looked up, he offered him the tiniest of smiles.

“Three lycans on one campus seems far too many . . . I think I will just have to kill you, Virge.”

Upon hearing the nickname, Virgil looked up. The fear in his eyes vanished, for how could it not when the newly Turned lycan was able to hold humor in those eyes of him. There was no hate, not beyond the initial shock.

Virgil, Roman noted, gave him the tiniest of smiles. And on those angelic lips, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys!
> 
> i've had a really busy weekend with homecoming and sports that I am only now able to post this. hell, I had the idea for this around 9 am today and have been sporadically writing/editing/finishing it throughout the day. it is most certainly later than 9 am now so I am absolutely exhausted.
> 
> i hope you guys enjoyed! the concept of this story is interesting to me and I KNOW IT'S PLATONIC but I really wanted to write it. and who knows, maybe this will get a few more parts for it to be more than platonic
> 
> thank you for reading and i hoped you enjoyed,  
> \- ronnie


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